


If You're on Your Lonesome

by panicatthesipsco



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drama & Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:47:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicatthesipsco/pseuds/panicatthesipsco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're bored and a little buzzed on a Friday night, pretending to be the cute guy's boyfriend always sounds like a good idea.</p><p>(To members of the Yogscast: don't read any of my fics on stream. Don't link, repost, or reference on any other social media or website.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i named this on the spot
> 
> i have a whole list of ideas and prompts i hash out for oneshots when i have writers block or want to practice writing. this was one of those oneshots until five minutes ago when i decided right before posting this that ill drag it out longer. so, youre welcome, everyone still waiting on hooked on a feeling.
> 
> (but cmon, who doesnt love the fake relationship trope)

Alex Smith had always been a bit reckless. It was well-known to his friends that if he wasn't spending the night drinking, he was already drunk and probably had a lighter in his hand and fireworks at his feet. They all even had the nearest hospitals on speed dial in case they couldn't locate him. (Because if he wasn't answering their calls or at home, it was likely he had ended up being rushed to the ER.) Alex Smith leaped before thinking, and he leaped often.

He usually ended up with a concussion, burnt hair, or a new scar.

So it was no surprise he was spending his Friday night with whiskey in his hands at his usual watering hole, trying to decide if he wanted to spend the rest of his night drinking or find something to do out in the city. It itched under his skin, the need to do something spontaneous, especially after he spent all day keeping himself together, contained and presentable, during work.

His eyes landed on the young man at the end of the bar, his drink held in between both hands. He was tall, probably nearly Alex's height, with a short mess of black hair and, he could see even from this distance, sharp blue eyes. Alex watched as the man kept his eyes down, as another (too-old looking) man with greasy hair slinked an arm around his shoulder and leaned closer to be heard over the music.

Alex hadn't really thought about it, but he was pretty sure he had seen this happen several times with different men so far in the night, hassling this poor guy. Judging by the way the blue-eyed man kept rolling his shoulders out from under Greasy McGross's arm and avoiding eye contact, it wasn't a welcome experience.

Without so much as pausing, Alex held his drink tighter and slid off his stool, striding over before carefully placing a light hand on the blue-eyed man's arm. The young man started just slightly, looking up at Alex mutely with a flash of fear across his face. Before Alex could scold himself for obviously coming off frightening (him and Greasy had boxed the poor boy in), Alex spoke carefully, feigning irritation. “Hey, babe, I know we were arguing, but do you really have to let strangers put their hands all over you?” Alex ignored the cerulean eyes staring up at him in shock in favor of staring levelly at the greasy man in front of him (who looked far too old to be hitting on the poor blue-eyed boy.)

“You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend,” Greasy McGross said in a low voice, and Alex recognized the anger starting to bubble up in it.

“I–” the blue-eyed one said, unconsciously leaning away from him and closer to Alex. Alex slipped his arm protectively around his shoulders, though he made sure to not rest his arm's weight on him.

“Didn't tell you he was single, though, did he?” Alex said evenly. He had no way of knowing what they had said, and he mentally crossed his fingers that his guess had been right.

Thankfully, the hobo-looking prick simply glared and picked up his own drink. “Keep a better rein on your boyfriend, then, asshole.”

Alex bit his tongue to keep from replying scathingly, and removed his arm when the skeevy man had disappeared in the crowd. He set his drink down and took the seat beside the young man.

“Alex Smith,” he said cheerily, grinning as if that had been a walk in the park. He held out his hand.

“Ross Hornby.” Ross stared at him with confusion as he shook Alex's hand. “Why did you…?” he gestured vaguely, fidgeting with his own drink nervously with his free hand.

“You didn't seem to be having a very good night,” Alex said simply, taking a swig of his whiskey.

Ross' eyes widened before laughter erupted from his lips, and Alex would've felt bad about the near-manic tone of it if he wasn't so enraptured by the sound of it. “That was incredible. The excuse of us having a fight to explain why you weren't here–”

Alex grinned and mock bowed. Ross laughed harder before finally letting it die down in favor of catching his breath.

“Wow,” he said softly, smiling gently at Alex. “Thank you, for that.”

Alex's grin softened and he nodded. “'Course, mate.” He lifted his drink to his lips but paused. “Not to say you can't handle yourself, but I could stick around the rest of the night. If you'd like.”

Alex was glad he was sitting, because the smile Ross gave him made his joints feel like they were filled with jelly.

“Sure, Smith, I'd like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Alex finally stumbled into the flat he shared with his best friend, he was 90% sure the grin on his face wasn't from the alcohol pulsing through his veins. He had stayed with Ross, late into the night, talking about whatever came into their minds. Naturally, over the course of the night, as more beers and whiskeys were consumed, the topics became less serious, until Smith's face hurt and Ross turned red from laughing.

As last call began to draw near, they parted ways, Smith walking home and Ross being picked up by a friend. But not before they exchanged numbers, neither wanting to lose the new friend they had made.

The flat was dark when Alex arrived home–he wasn’t sure he had expected Chris Trott to be up at 11, but he had known Trott to stay up until the early morning, sometimes even falling asleep with the light of dawn spilling through the windows. Alex tried to quietly place his keys on the side table by the door, carefully shedding off his coat, but when the hallway lights flicked on across the room, he only managed to drop his keys on the floor with a clatter, his coat tangling in his arms.

Like a deer caught in headlights, he stared at Trott with wide eyes, the shorter man standing in the hall with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“Where the hell have you been, Smith?” he asked, striding forward and jabbing a finger at Smith’s chest. He paused to frown, wrinkling his nose. “Have you been drinking all night?”

Smith held his hands up, still caught awkwardly in the sleeves of his coat, a sheepish grin on his face. He tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “Yes. I was hanging out with my _boyfriend_.”

Trott rolled his eyes. “Has what you’ve been up to really that criminal, that you have to lie to me?” Though Trott’s tone was joking, the disbelief in his voice was real.

Smith made a strangled offended noise, a look of hurt flashing across his face. “And why wouldn’t I have a boyfriend? What makes it a lie?”

Trott snorted and stepped back, folding one arm across his chest while the other gestured dismissively along the length of Smith’s height. “Have you seen the state of yourself lately? You reek of alcohol, you still have a patch of hair missing from one of your eyebrows from that bonfire last week, and you _still_ have your arms caught in your coat, like a toddler.”

Smith frowned, crossing his arms, defensive–though he didn’t want to be. “It’s not that unbelievable for me to have a boyfriend.”

Trott rolled his eyes once more, holding his hands up and backing off a bit, knowing Alex long enough to know when he’s starting to get his feelings hurt. “It’s not impossible, but it’s also not very likely.”

Smith frowned and struggled for a few seconds to pull off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, before holding out his palm, his fingers splayed upwards. “Then explain this.”

Trott reached forward and held Smith’s hand carefully, squinting in the dim light that crept from the hallway. Ross’ name was legible above a scrawl of numbers, the last digit a bit smudged from the sweat that had accumulated on Smith’s palm.

“Is that a nine or an eight at the end?” Trott asked. Smith craned his head forward to look at his skin, his forehead nearly touching Trott’s. Alex didn't think to simply take his hand back.

“Nine,” Alex decided, after a moment.

Trott let go of Smith’s hand. “Well, if he really does exist, then have him come ‘round for dinner tomorrow night.”

Smith huffed. “Fine, then, I will.”

“And no more making me lose sleep, staying up worrying about you. You’re twenty-five, not sixteen.”

Smith stuck his tongue out at Trott as he slinked past him towards his bedroom. “Okay, _mom_.”

“Go to your room, young man!” Trott shouted after him, easily resuming a joking tone as he returned to what Smith realized was a paused game of Trials on the living room TV.

Smith ducked into his room and shut the door behind him, leaning against the door to skulk for a moment. It wasn’t _that_ unlikely for him to have a boyfriend. He was alright looking, he played guitar, he had a job. It wasn’t like he spent _all_ his time drinking and running wild throughout the city.

Only, like, half the time.

“And people like the bad boy type, anyway, right?” he mumbled under his breath as he toed off his boots and pulled off his shirt. He crawled into bed, the room swaying a little as he adjusted in his groggy bevved haze, and he nearly settled down for sleep before he remembered why he had felt so acutely bitter in the first place. He groaned at the thought of moving when sleep so readily beckoned him, but he fished his phone out of his pocket and held it in one hand as he held the other out, squinting by the light of his phone as he tapped in the number into the messaging screen.

To: _Ross from the bar  
We're friends and I rescued you, so now it's time for you to rescue me and maybe pretend to be my boyfriend for just tomorrow night so my idiot flatmate will cut me some slack? kthanksbye_

He sent the message without thinking about it, set the phone down on his nightstand, rolled over, and promptly passed out.

* * *

Ross didn't remember the exact details of the night before. He remembered Alex Smith pretending to be his boyfriend, having an extremely wonderful time, feeling disheartened at the thought of never seeing him again, and reaching out for Smith's hand so that he could write down his number on it. Ross' recollection after that was hazy, a sloshy mess of dozing off in Will's car as the blond lectured him, being laid on his side in his bed at some point, and waking up now.

He warily opened his eyes, and was thankful that Will had closed the curtains when he had tucked Ross into bed. In the hazy morning light of the room, he could see that beside him on the bed, a light on his phone was slowly pulsing. He picked it up and unlocked it.

(1) new messages.  
Whiskey Alex

Ross took a moment to close his eyes and groan, rubbing his face. Drunk Ross shouldn't be allowed to name his contacts. Had the bearded man even drank whiskey? Ross couldn't remember how whiskey came into play, or why it was significant enough to him the night before when he had programmed the contact.

Letting go of his face, he read the message, and then reread it, and then reread it again. By the time he finally pressed reply, he realized a grin had unconsciously spread across his face.

He remembered vaguely a flatmate, who Smith had described as very short. Ross had been told stories, he was sure, but he couldn't bring any to mind.

To: _Whiskey Alex  
sure mate, where and what time?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of this was written on the bus
> 
> the one good thing of a two hour commute, is that i have four hours a day to write now


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i did not google how to impress in-laws until after i was done writing. if you trust google over my writing, please don't use this chapter as a guidebook on how to impress your SO's parents.
> 
> (if youre trying to impress your fake boyfriend's roommate, though, feel free.)

While at work during the day, Ross googled various phrases along the very relevant lines of “how to impress your in-laws over dinner”–which was already more effort than he needed to display for his end of the deal. But, well, go big or go home. Following some common advice the internet gave him, he had politely shown up two minutes early, with a bottle of (relatively cheap) wine, tucked into a generic brown paper grocery bag.

It took Smith and his roommate a full minute to answer the door, and Ross knew because after twenty seconds, he had gotten worried and pulled out his phone to double check the address. Ross had already half-typed a text to Smith when someone finally answered the door.

“So you seem to actually exist,” Smith's roommate said, a grimace on his face, looking like he had just gotten out of an argument. He had soft looking brown hair, the bangs sweeping across his forehead.

Ross could see why Smith would describe him as short.

“I certainly hope so. Otherwise none of us get to enjoy the wine I brought.” Ross smiled and held up the bag.

The roommate's mouth twisted to the side as he took the bag.

“Oi, is that him?” Smith called from within the flat. The roommate rolled his eyes and held the door wider as Smith walked up. Ross refrained from asking to be let in, despite the fact it was six in the evening, in autumn.

“Bloody early, aren't you?” Smith asked, grinning.

“You better be happy I'm here at all, you bastard,” Ross bit out easily, grinning back. “Be a little grateful, I bought you two wine.”

The roommate glanced between the two before speaking. “Well, I'm Chris Trott.” He held out his hand and Ross gladly shook it. An introduction had to be a sign he was doing well, right?

“Ross Hornby.”

Both Alex and he watched as Trott laughed loudly at that. Ross glanced nervously at Smith, who rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god, no wonder Smith likes you,” Trott managed to get out between laughs. “I bet it's a riot having a name like Hornby.”

“Oi, fucking cool it, mate,” Smith grit out jokingly, shoving Trott's shoulder.

Trott sobered up immediately and gave him a _look,_ holding a finger out and pointing up at Smith's face. “Don't shove me, sunshine. I still have the wine.”

Ross, still standing on the porch, slipped his hands back into his pockets and smiled as he watched the exchange.

“I can see how you worried about making the right impression on him, Smith,” Ross chimed in.

“Alright, Trott, let's steal the wine and kick him out,” Smith decided. “I'm getting a bit tired of his sass, to be honest.”

“'Kick me out'? You haven't even let me in!” Ross asked, a look of hurt outrage on his face and a hand reaching up to clutch dramatically at his chest.

“Fine,” Smith declared, “let him in, so we can kick him out.”

Trott watched the exchange with an odd look on his face, but held the door open. “Might as well feed him dinner before you break up with him, Smith.”

Ross smiled and ducked inside before anyone could change their minds. He stood next to Smith as Trott shut the door. Smith stared at him carefully and gave him Meaningful Looks that Ross had no hope of deciphering. Stifling a sigh, Smiffy elbowed him and pointedly reached his hand out, just slightly.

Ross slipped his fingers carefully between Smith's. However, as Ross was slow on the uptake, Trott turned around just as Ross did so, and Trott's eyes zeroed in on the movement.

“Well isn't that just adorable,” Trott said dryly.

“Be glad we're not making out,” Smith said easily. Ross struggled not to cover his face, and he mentally begged whoever would listen for Trott to not to call Smith's bluff.

Trott sneered, his eyebrows furrowing and the corner of his mouth raised in distaste. “I'll kick you both out if you do that.”

“Yeah, whatever, you definitely haven't been threatening me with that since university.” Alex smiled at Ross innocently. “C'mon, I'll give you a quick tour.”

“Don't show him my room, Smith!” Trott called after them as Smith used his hold on Ross' hand to lead him down the hall.

As soon as they reached his bedroom door, Alex tugged Ross in and shut the door behind them, dropping Ross' hand and gesturing around the fairly messy room. “Well, here's my bedroom. Tour's over.”

“Sex before dinner, how scandalous,” Ross joked. Smith rolled his eyes.

“Look, I just want to make sure you're not, like…” He gestured vaguely. “Uncomfortable, I guess? With all this?”

Ross raised his eyebrows in surprise and a little bit in amusement. “What, holding hands with my mate and taking the piss out of his flatmate? Way better than sitting at home watching Netflix and eating pot noodle.”

Smith still looked a bit nervous, twisting his mouth to the side and looking at the floor.

“Plus,” Ross added, “free food.” He grinned at Smith, relieved when Smith looked up and grinned back.

“Let's go make Trott eat the biggest I-told-you-so shit sandwich of his life,” Smith stage whispered, fist pumping the air.

“If I knew that was for dinner, actually, I might not have come,” Ross joked as Smiffy grabbed his hand and led him back into the living room.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Ross,” he said loudly. “Trott's cooking isn't _that_ bad. Give the man a break.”

“Hey!” Trott shouted from the kitchen. “I welcomed you into my home!”

“Now, Trott,” Alex began, “I'm sure he didn't–”

Trott moved to the kitchen doorway, leaning out just enough to point his spatula at Smith. “I was talking to you.”

He immediately returned to what he was doing, but Smith wasn't satisfied with leaving it at that. Gesturing for Ross to take a seat and mumbling for him to make himself at home, Alex ducked into the kitchen, insults ready at his lips.

Ross smiled to himself despite the muffled bickering coming from the kitchen. He sat down on the couch, his hands in his jacket pockets as he studied the living room.

There weren't many photos aside from a few that looked like they were taken at some sort of graduation, which were propped up at each side of the television on the TV stand. Tucked on the shelves underneath (where photos _usually_ went) was an xbox and a ridiculous amount of games.

“Do you want me to take your jacket for you?” Trott said from behind the couch, startling Ross out of his observations

“Oh, uh, yes, you can, thanks,” Ross said nervously as he stood up and carefully took his coat off. Trott and he hadn't spoken alone yet, and Smith didn't seem like he would be coming to Ross' rescue anytime soon.

Trott easily took the coat from him, and as he carefully folded the jacket and lay it over the back of an armchair, he gave Ross a questioning look. “You're dressed awfully formal for a simple dinner with your boyfriend's roommate,” Trott observed.

Ross furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before looking down at himself and realizing he was still in his work clothes. “Oh, I work as an office computer technician,” he said simply, fumbling with the buttons on his sleeves. He only wore a pale blue button-up, dark jeans, and dress shoes, but his face reddened. He quickly realized his attire, coupled with bringing wine and arriving early, painted him in a very eager light.

“I see,” Trott said simply, taking a seat in the armchair. Ross followed suit and sat on the couch, looking around the room–everywhere except for at Trott.

“Well,” Trott said after a moment. “We both know Smith tattled about what I said last night.”

“I guess so,” Ross said, treading carefully. “Though I can see how you would have your doubts.” Ross remembered hearing a lot of reckless stories from Smith, but he could only remember that the missing patch from his eyebrows was from some sort of fire. (Something to do with pancakes?) “Smith's certainly a little wild.”

“Okay, mate, keep it in your pants,” Trott said, deadpan, but when Ross nervously glanced over at him, Trott had a grin on his face.

“S'not what your roommate was saying last night,” Ross bit out easily, waggling his eyebrows.

Trott chuckled, even though he looked like he didn't want to. “Gross. I don't want to hear about what goes on between your dicks unless I'm invited.”

Ross smiled back. “Check your mail, mate, I'll send an invitation your way. I'll be expecting you to RSVP promptly.”

Trott laughed louder this time, and Ross joined in, a little giddy for making a good impression on Trott. Ross felt a bit silly for it, but if he was going to be Smith's fake boyfriend, he wanted to do the job right.

“I mean it this time when I say I can see why Smith likes you,” Trott spoke as their laughter lulled into silence.

“Are you saying you didn't mean it earlier?” Ross said, smiling softly.

“Well, I meant it a little bit. You did bring wine, after all. But,” Trott added, “you two work well together. I can tell you really have a connection with him.”

Ross could feel his heart in his throat, and his neck felt warm and a little itchy as he blushed again. “We–” he started before pausing to clear his throat, suddenly a lot more nervous than he had been before. “We what?”

“Smith doesn't normally make good impressions on people. He's a bit…” Trott paused, thinking.

”‘Intimidating’?” Ross supplied.

“I was thinking 'loud,'” Trott smiled, “but yours might be better. Either way, he tends to put people off. There is very few who can stand him long enough to find out he’s actually a pretty nice guy.”

Ross remained silent.

“But you not only put up with him, you _enjoy_ him. And on top of that, you make him smile like a human rather than a predator.”

Ross must be a better actor than he thought. “Will you need my address, or are you going to give me my award now?” Ross joked.

Trott rolled his eyes. “You're part of the mushy love fest, too, mate. I have known you all of, what, twenty minutes? And you look at him like he conquered a small country and named it after you.”

Ross felt very out of place. “Well, a man can dream.” Jokes were always an acceptable reply, right?

Trott scoffed and leaned back. “And you do the same thing he does where when anyone's serious with you, you crack jokes until they stop.”

Ross let a small smile slip into place on his face. “Is it working?”

Trott snorted. “Yeah, sure mate. But remember what I said, okay? 'Cos if you hurt Smith, I'll fill your house with spiders.”

Ross wrinkled his nose. “How would you even…?”

Trott shrugged and leaned forward to grab a remote off the coffee table. Before he could pick it up, however, Smith called from the kitchen.

“Trotttttt, how do I know when it’s done?”

Trott sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s _mac and cheese,_ it’s not that difficult to fuck up.”

“Trotttttttttttt,” Smith whined again.

“Troootttt,” Ross joined in, grinning. Trott narrowed his eyes at Ross, but the corners of his lips twitched a little in the ghost of a smile.

“Fine, I’ll help you with the damn dinner,” Trott said, exasperated, standing and holding his hands up in surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate to be that author who comes running back shouting apologies and handing out excuses. i've had some issues with my depression and my job (not getting paid yaaaay) so it's been a bit of a struggle to work on anything that others will see. i hope however that you guys enjoy the chapter.
> 
> you may have already noticed, i updated the tags, and thats because there is a lot more to this story than what you see at first glance 0:)
> 
> as always, you can find me at [my tumblr](http://panicatthesipsco.tumblr.com), and if you send me requests/prompts/etc i'll probably write them for you!


	4. Chapter 4

The dinner went surprisingly well, the three men falling into an easy rapport. Though Ross had felt a bit out of place between Smith and Trott’s already established friendship, only worsened by his work clothes compared to their t-shirts and jeans, it was surprisingly simple to join in on the joking.

Even with a cheap dinner of dollar store wine and mac & cheese, the evening continued on well into the night, and when it was time for Ross to head back home as ten o’clock drew near, Trott pulled him aside and made him promise to come back.

Excitement and energy was buzzing through his veins as he parked in the apartment complex’s lot and locked his car. He didn’t let his thoughts linger too much on what Trott had said about his supposed feelings for Smith, and while he made his way to the right floor and unlocked his door, he focused instead on how happy he felt to be making friends. He hadn’t really gotten out much ever since--

“Where on earth have you been?” Strife grumbled as Ross turned on the lights.

Strife sat in the middle of the living room couch, his hands in his lap. He wore a thick knit sweater and jeans, and he wasn’t wearing shoes.

Ross ignored the sick feeling in his stomach as he frowned at Will. “Did you pick the lock?”

“Parv has a key,” Strife said dismissively. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried.”

Ross crossed the living room to the kitchen, dropping his keys on the counter and shedding off his jacket. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Strife frowned, his eyes tinged with worry. “We’re friends. And I was concerned about you. You didn’t come home after work and you had already been out drinking last night. I was just--”

Before Ross could reconsider, he said quickly, “I was with my boyfriend.”

Will stopped speaking, his mouth still half-forming whatever he had been about to say, his hands still up in the air. Will closed his mouth and stared at Ross, his hands falling into his lap.

Ross didn’t respond, letting Will process this information. Ross rummaged through the fridge and looked for a beer. 

“You have a boyfriend?” Will asked finally, his tone even. Ross glanced over his shoulder and saw only concern on Will’s face.

He didn’t know what he had expected his reaction to be, but _concern_ stung a little.

“Yeah, mate,” Ross said easily, falling into the familiar process of placing an uncaring expression across his face as he twist off the beer cap and sat at the end of the couch, the armrest digging into his side.

“I just thought, well...” Will trailed off, tucking his hands under his thighs and looking at Ross intently.

Ross glanced at him from the corner of his eye and took another swig of his beer. He couldn’t control the quiet hope that welled up in his throat. “You thought what?” he asked carefully.

“Well, I thought you still had feelings for me. You hit on me last night again while you were drunk.”

Of course Ross had. Of _course_ he bloody had.

Ross laughed it off, a bit awkwardly. “I was drunk, Will, are you really going to believe anything I had to say? I was probably trying to be funny.”

Will remained silent, still looking at him with wary worry.

“Besides,” Ross continued, “I was meeting with him at the bar anyway.”

Will sighed. “Okay, I suppose.”

Ross smiled, straining to look believable. “You’ve been with Parv, what, seven months now? Trust me, mate, our stuff together is long in the past. I’m over you, I’m fine.”

It tasted a bit bitter in his mouth, lying to Will.

Will stared at him for another moment before his face washed over with relief. “Okay, good,” he said finally. “I’ve been worried about you holing yourself up in here. I’m glad to hear you’ve been happy.” Will smiled.

“Yeah, mate.” Ross had to force himself to smile back.

* * *

Trott was blissfully silent while Smith and he cleaned up after Ross’ departure. Smith had half-expected Trott to ask how much Smith had paid Ross, or to crack some sort of joke about Smith’s taste in men, but Trott seemed lost in thought, only mumbling distracted replies when Smith spoke to him.

As Smith lay in his bed, reevaluating the night, he felt a bit of anxiety creep up over Trott’s sudden silence. Did Trott not like Ross? Smith had thought they had gotten along swimmingly. Did Trott know Smith had lied? Was he angry?

Out of the corner of his eye, his phone screen lit up. Readily welcoming the distraction, Smith reached out and scooped it up, carefully avoiding knocking the charging cord loose.

(1) new messages.  
Ross from the bar

Smith made a mental note to change that as soon as possible. Who calls their boyfriend a name like that?

People without boyfriends, that’s who.

_ i had a good time tonight. trott even asked me to come back! _

Smith realized he was smiling, and he silently thanked Ross for interrupting his worrying.

_ I’ll be sure to tell him you never want to see him again _

_ you read my mind, cheers m8 _

Smith grinned, his fingers loud against the screen as he quickly replied.

_ Speaking of, want to hang out some time? As just mates, this time _

_ are you implying there will be a next time where we’ll be something other than mates? _

Smith scoffed, unplugging the cable and rolling onto his back.

_ Jeeeez do you have a problem with that? I’ve already wined and dined you _

_ isnt there a three date rule about this kind of thing?  
i am not sure i appreciate your lack of gentlemanliness about this _

_ I see how it is  
I didn’t want to hang out with you anyway, I’m only dating you for your money _

_ bad decision m8, you saw the kind of wine i buy _

_ Which is why you’re dumped lol bye _

* * *

_ babe no you know i didnt mean it _

Ross' face hurt a little from smiling. Smith was typing something, the app told him as much, but Ross quickly tapped out and sent another text.

_ i’ll do anyyyyything to make it up to you ;) _

Smith stopped typing. For a few seconds, he didn't reply at all, and Ross felt like he might need to tack on a "just kidding" before Smith replied again.

_ OOOOO_  
_Someone’s randy!_  
_I demand a bouquet of golden dipped roses and a huge diamond ring, and you can bring it to me at the park over by the bar_

Ross' relief was nearly palpable, and he smiled at Smith's backhanded offer.

_ i can meet you at the park at noon but i dont know about the rest, will lunch do? _

_ Well, I guess, but you’re losing housewife points, mate _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you probably already saw, i added color coding to make it more readable. this has also been added to previous chapters (chapter 2 was the only one that needed it though)


End file.
